


I'm in over my head (and I can't catch my breath)

by paperowl



Series: I'm not bitter, I'm just tired [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Irondad, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22825390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperowl/pseuds/paperowl
Summary: Peter drifted his way through the school day with a shaking body and panic that seeped into his bones, but he was fine. Totally fine. His penchant for getting injured just to feelsomethingis perfectly normal.Or,Five drugs Peter was addicted to
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: I'm not bitter, I'm just tired [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648717
Comments: 33
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Deep End by Ruelle
> 
> I'm using the 5+1 format as more of an outline, so this fic is going to be more than six chapters. It's part two of a series, and reading the first work is advised, but not necessary. This is set in the fanon timeline where Infinity War never happened, Tony and Peter are kinda pals a little bit, and Tony never sold the tower. 
> 
> Thanks to my beta, clairdeloon for their amazing help and go check out their fic [ From the Ashes ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20151595/chapters/47740975)
> 
> Content warning: Self-harm, that's mildly described, but definitely not sugar-coated. Self-destructive and harming behaviors will be a major plot point of this fic so tread wisely. Tags will be updated as the story progresses.

Peter was a busy kid; with his fake/real internship at Stark Industries, grades to keep on top of, an academic decathlon team to support, friends to hang out with, and crime to fight, it was a miracle he had time to sleep. May and Tony had been pushing him to let up on patrol a bit so that he could have some breathing room, especially after his panic attack at the tower, but Peter refused. He liked going out and saving people, and really, aside from school, he enjoyed everything he was doing. He was just busy, really, really busy.

May was so busy herself, and his previous concerning behaviors had been easily explained away, that aside from the occasional worried remark about how hard he was pushing himself, she didn’t show much concern. Peter was grateful. He and May had a routine that they were just getting comfortable with, and he didn’t want to upset her when everything was just starting to feel normal again after Ben. He was fine, though, except for having a Mood once in a while he really was doing okay. He told Tony as much the next time they met for a lab day.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? That seemed like a pretty bad panic attack to me.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I just had a bad day and freaked out a little. It hasn’t happened since, really, I’m fine.” Peter responded, shrugging and hoping he sounded sincere.

Tony tapped his fingers on the table. “If you say so, kid. But let me or May know if it happens again, okay?” He pointed at Peter with the wrench he was using to tinker with an old car engine, “I need my Spider-baby in top shape, we can’t have you hyperventilating in a corner somewhere.”

Peter fake pouted, deflecting from the way his heart stuttered at Tony’s comment; he needed Spider-Man, Homecoming was proof of that. “Hey! Spider-baby?” he protested. “I’m almost sixteen, that’s unfair.” Tony got a glint in his eye and took the bait, unable to resist teasing, previous heavy topic left alone for the day.

Later that evening, while in the middle of algebra homework, Peter began to feel uneasy. Something in the way Tony had been looking at him made Peter feel as though he had known Peter wasn’t exactly telling the truth. He didn’t know how Tony would know, and logically it made little sense. But, for some reason, he was absolutely convinced that Tony knew and was going to spring some sort of intervention on him. He didn’t know why it scared him so much, having the occasional panic attack over school stress was no big deal. He could just convince Tony it wasn’t an issue, that he needed to lighten up on work a little, and he’d be fine. So why was he freaking out so much?

Ironically, panicking over Tony knowing directly countered the assertion that he was fine. It had taken Peter a while to realize exactly what constituted a panic attack, but once he did, he realized they were happening all the time. His meltdown at the tower was the worst it had ever been; usually he could pretend like everything was fine and function relatively well while panicking. He might feel like he was imploding, just on the verge of collapsing from the panic overloading his senses, but the sensation had become familiar, and while it was no easier to deal with, he’d gotten used to it. It had crept up on Peter, and by the time he realized he had a real anxiety problem, he was already having almost daily panic attacks, often over little things, like a teacher glancing at him for a moment too long, or when he so much as sneezed on the walk home.

That all too familiar gut-twisting anxiety filled Peter, and it only took a glance over to the Spider-Man mask lying in a heap on his bed - dumped there when he’d gotten home from patrol earlier- for him to give in and scramble to put it on. 

“Karen?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes, Peter?” she responded, calm as always. 

“Do you send updates to Mr. Stark? About, like, my vitals and stuff?” 

“Only when you are injured or in distress, like now. Would you like me to contact him?” 

Peter shook his head rapidly, “No, no, I’m fine, Karen. Thanks.” Peter paused. “And actually, can you only contact him when I’m injured? I don’t want him getting worried over nothing, you know?” Peter bounced his leg nervously on the floor, the springs in his mattress squeaking and filling the pause between his question and Karen’s answer, which seemed to take minutes instead of seconds.

“As you wish, Peter,” Karen responded, sounding oddly resigned.

Peter let out a sigh of relief and let himself fall back onto the bed. “Thanks, Karen, you’re the best.”

He could trust Karen, he knew he could, but Peter hooked his suit up to the laptop Tony had given him and double-checked the code, just in case. If Tony was getting any updates from the suit at all, even access to vital logs, he would know that Peter was lying through his teeth. 

Thankfully, it was easy enough to locate the alert system, (though annoyingly named the ‘tantrum protocol’) and, with some effort (this was Tony Stark’s code he was dealing with), he managed to delete it entirely, even scouring the rest of the code meticulously for a backup to be doubly safe. Or, at least, safe from Tony finding out just how much of a mess Peter was. Tony wouldn’t let Peter go on patrol if he knew just how badly Peter was panicking all the time, and patrol was what gave him a purpose, a reason to endure the constant anxiety.

Peter’s panic ebbed and flowed, but even though he’d made sure he was safe from Tony’s sharp eye, it wouldn’t completely disappear. He tried to keep working on his homework to distract himself, but he was too scattered to form many coherent thoughts, let alone solve linear algebra. Peter settled for frustratedly skimming a chapter of Fahrenheit 451, though in the end he just read a sentence every other page and rapidly flipped through the pages so he could just be done with it. 

He was flipping through the final pages when his thumb started sharply stinging. He stopped and hissed at the cut. “Stupid paper,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing a tissue to catch the blood. His book was a school library loan, and Mrs. Linkletter, the librarian, would murder him if he got a drop of anything on it, especially blood.

The cut closed up in less than a minute, so Peter, deprived of an excuse to stop reading, sighed and picked up the book again, ready to finish the chapter. He’d barely glanced at the page when he realized something was off, he didn’t feel like he was seconds away from throwing up anymore. 

Of course, just when he realized it, the deep, almost aching nausea returned, and Peter groaned, threading his fingers through his hair and tugging. He was upset, and annoyed and so, so tired, he needed a break, just a little one. He wanted to be able to think without panic weaving itself through his thoughts and making him unable to focus on anything. That’s when his eyes caught on the box cutter mixed in with miscellaneous tech on top of his desk. 

Peter shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to forget the idea that had just planted itself in his brain. He wouldn’t, he shouldn’t..… but the papercut had done something, more than any amount of deep breathing or distraction techniques ever could. But this was a crazy idea, insane. There would be no going back from this, no more denying something was very wrong. But… why? What was so wrong about it? Like, logically, it wasn’t hurting anyone else, and he wasn’t suicidal...

In that moment, Peter felt as though he was stuck in a tiny corner of his brain, unable to do anything as he watched himself get up, lock the door, and rummage for the box cutter, his limbs moving of their own accord. He was terrified, and yet... he wasn’t. Peter slowly stepped out of his pants and rolled up his boxers. For a moment he just sat, staring at his thigh, box cutter hovering inches above it. Was he really going to do this? 

Apparently he was, and as he held the blade to his leg with a shaking hand, he realized just how scared he was. As it turned out, despite the desperate urge to do it, to make a cut, there was a sliver of self-preservation that had wedged itself into his acting brain and made him hesitate.

But he needed this, this was the only way he would stop losing control of his brain and body, and that was enough for him to ignore any lingering reservations. Peter took a deep breath and started off light, barely brushing the blade over his leg, psyching himself up for the actual cuts. When he worked up the courage and added enough pressure to break through his skin, an overwhelming sense of relief flooded through him. It hurt, more than he anticipated, but there was a quality to this pain that was nice, almost comforting. He didn’t know if it was because the pain distracted him from his shaking hands and a heart that beat just a little too quickly, or if the blood beginning to accumulate on his legs made him feel more real. 

Whatever the feeling was, it was enough to make him continue. And going until he was satisfied, and the dizzying panic had slowed to a lazy pace. He put the blade down, cleaned himself up, put on pajama pants, and curled up in bed. With his body a little less shaky and his thighs littered with stinging cuts, Peter went to sleep with a quiet mind. For the first time in a while, he felt kind of okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back with a new chapter! I turned one paragraph into five during edits because my first draft is apparently always a glorified outline so I'm hoping it's not too drawn out (I'm probably just paranoid). This chapter is now beta-certified to not be too drawn out, thanks clairdeloon! I hope y'all enjoy, and let me know what you think, I appreciate all of your comments. 
> 
> Content Warning; Referenced self-harm, general destructive thought patterns

It wasn’t a big deal, it really wasn’t. It's not like he was doing it all the time. So maybe he added a few cuts when the panic became too much and he needed a distraction; what was so terrible about that? The only person he was hurting was himself, and the injuries were so minor that they could barely be classified as getting hurt, so why shouldn’t he do it? 

It was by that logic that Peter justified the rapidly increasing frequency of his habit. Within a couple weeks it was something he was doing almost daily, unable to get enough of the stinging clarity the pain brought him. He soon began experimenting with different parts of his body, seeing how different areas felt. With his enhanced healing, the cuts healed so quickly that he never ran out of space, and that made it all the easier to do it as frequently as he’d become accustomed to. But it also meant that the pain never lingered long enough. He wanted a constant reminder of what he’d done, he wanted the distraction of pain to last more than ten minutes. 

With Peter’s mind so distracted, he misjudged his landing while swinging down from a building, and winced as he tripped forward, landing hard on his hands and knees. The jolt of pain traveled through his bones and left him a little breathless. He’d definitely have some bruises, and after stiffly making his way home and receiving endless sympathy from May, he realized something; no one questioned the injuries he got on patrol, so what difference would a few more make?

So he tried it again, to “misjudge” a landing or the speed of a fist in his direction. But every time there was a fist rushing towards his face, he couldn’t help but dodge it. And every time he had the opportunity to clip a building or purposely miss a couple of steps while swinging through the city, he couldn’t help but adjust himself and barely avoid injury. Damn his spider reflexes. This was a good option, a good way to get what he wanted without garnering any suspicion, and his stupid self-preservation instincts were ruining it.

But then, one evening Peter got kicked in the side very aggressively. It hadn’t been intentional, he really had been too slow, and with an area of his mind always preoccupied, it wasn’t surprising that he missed the movement until it hit him, literally. And wow, it hurt; this guy, whoever he was, seemed to be pretty well-versed in physical fighting techniques. A step up from his usual wimpy mugger who thought hiding behind a gun was all the protection they needed.

Peter managed to push back the pain long enough to web up the burglar, running on pure adrenaline alone, but as soon as it was over, he stumbled backward and rested a hand against the wall of the building next to him. In his pain-addled brain, it occurred to him that maybe his biggest concern right now shouldn’t be getting out of view of that idiot burglar, but here he was, inching around the corner into an alley, out of view so he could focus entirely on how to get home. 

Every step and every breath sent deep pain shooting through his chest; he probably had bruised or cracked ribs. Peter took a moment to fully lean his back against the building, collecting himself and wrapping his arms around his chest for a semblance of support. As much as he wanted to sit down, he knew that it was likely he’d be unable to get up, so he stayed on his feet despite pain so terrible it was all he could do not to pass out.

“Peter, would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?” Karen asked for what had to be the fifth time. “You appear to be in a significant amount of pain.” 

Peter sighed, painfully. “No, Karen. I’m fine. Just show me the fastest route home.” She obliged, and Peter forced himself to his feet and began to head home, running entirely on Karen’s instructions, his brain too muddled with pain to find his own way. 

Every movement had him stifling a groan so as not to draw attention to himself. Spider-Man limping down the sidewalk needed to stay as inconspicuous as possible; no one wanted to see their local superhero on the verge of collapse, barely able to walk. 

Peter managed to stay mostly hidden and didn’t run into any more crimes, but he doubted he’d be much good in a fight, so it was probably for the best. The pain of his injuries forced him to take multiple breaks to lean against the nearest wall or street lamp, and by the time he finally arrived at his apartment complex, it felt as though hours had passed. 

He couldn’t just stroll into the lobby of his apartment building, not while dressed in his suit, and there was no way he had the energy or focus to climb the side of the building, which would have been the next easiest option. That left him with one choice; he had to scale the fire escape. 

Peter made his way around to the back of the building and stared up at the fire escape. This was going to be like climbing Everest. He took a deep breath to steel himself for the climb, but instead it made him double over in pain. 

Ignoring Karen’s concern and strongly-worded request to contact Mr. Stark, Peter wrapped his arms around his chest, every movement agonizing, and tried to breathe through the pain until it leveled out. Using the wall for support, Peter slowly stood up and reached for the first rung of the ladder. Raising his arms above his shoulders was excruciating, but he managed to climb the first ladder without collapsing. He desperately wanted to pause, just for a minute, but he knew if he stopped he might never start again, so he continued climbing, taking it floor by floor until he reached his room.

Peter all but fell through the open window, doing his best not to make an audible noise when the contortion needed to climb through it sent a sharp pain stabbing through his chest. In a final burst of energy, he stumbled out of the spider suit and gingerly lowered himself into his bed. He lay flat on his back, scared that rolling onto his side would make his ribs worse. Even while motionless, every breath sent a sharp pain through his chest. 

_Just a few more hours,_ Peter told himself. His advanced healing would make it at least bearable to move the next morning, if he could just make it through the night.

As painful as his injuries were, there was something oddly nice about it. The chest pain wasn’t as sharp or grounding as cuts were, but it was lasting much longer. Peter focused on his breathing, focused on the waves of pain that every breath brought him with an odd sort of distance, which gradually shifted to a savoring of the feeling. He wanted pain that lasted, so he needed to take what he could get, no matter how awful it was and how much he wished he could get rid of it. Peter wasn’t sure how something could be both terribly painful and almost comforting at the same time, but it was. 

He hadn’t been in bed for long when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Peter turned his head toward the phone and caught the time on the clock; it was already midnight? He’d started patrol at eight and had only been out for an hour or two when he met the ninja burglar. It really had taken him a while to get home, then. The phone buzzed again.

Peter ignored it, closing his eyes and taking another deep, painful breath. It was probably Ned calling him about a homework question, it could wait until tomorrow. But then his phone buzzed again, and again, and at that point, it was irritating enough for Peter to reach over to end the call, gasping at the sharp, new pain the movement brought him.

Peter closed his eyes, but the phone began buzzing again not a moment later. Groaning, Peter rolled onto his injured side and propped himself up to reach his phone on the far side of the nightstand, the slow, careful movements bringing tears to his eyes. If this was a telemarketer, he might just throw his phone across the room.

Peter looked at the caller ID and audibly groaned, of course it was Tony. Why did it have to be Tony? Before Peter could even make a decision on whether or not to answer, Tony decided for him and forced the call through. 

“Hey, kid,” Tony’s voice crackled through the speakers.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, forcing his voice to remain steady as tears started to work their way down his face. He was still propped up on his injured side and the pain was getting worse. 

“Just checking in. How was patrol?” 

Peter was in too much pain to be confused about why Tony was ‘just checking in’, and he missed the playful quirk in Tony’s voice.

“I- I’m fine Mr. Stark,” Peter started, and wow his side was on fire now, he took a deep breath to steady himself and couldn’t help hissing in pain. Alright, that was a terrible move. 

“I, uh, caught a few burglars, and stopped a mugging but otherwise it was a pretty quiet night.” By the end, Peter was shocked he could still talk normally, there was no way Tony hadn’t noticed the agony in his voice by now. 

“That’s it? Not even a churro lady?” Tony asked, the amusement in his voice barely masked. 

“Yep,” Peter forced out, and yeah, that was about as strangled as he’d ever sounded. 

Tony let out a chuckle. “Okay, kid, the jig is up. I know you have two fractured ribs and that you need to take some pain meds, because laying down is gonna kick your ass if you don’t.” 

Peter couldn’t tell if he was happy that he’d been found out or not. Tony cared enough to force him to take painkillers, but Peter didn’t mind the pain anymore, in fact, he kind of liked it.

“Karen’s a traitor,” Peter said while readjusting his position, not bothering to stifle groans of pain. 

“Okay, now you sound like you’re dying,” Tony commented. “And I don’t mean that in the metaphorical sense.”

“How encouraging,” Peter deadpanned, finally in a less painful position.

“I’m sending you some pills now, expect them in the next couple of minutes,” Tony said.

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter protested. “You really don’t have to. I can just take some of the stuff I have and I’ll be fine.” 

“No, you won’t,” Tony said firmly. “You’ve mentioned before that you have enhanced, well, everything. So I made a stronger dose of pain meds, similar to the ones Cap takes, because your metabolism is probably even faster than his, and renders regular painkillers ineffective. I don’t want to poison you.”

“You won’t, and I would think that was cool if it didn’t hurt to breathe,” Peter quipped, receiving a chuckle from Tony. 

“Oh, I should let you know that the meds will be delivered straight to you, so if you hear the window opening don’t freak out.” 

“You- you’re not delivering them?” Peter asked. 

Tony huffed. “Of course not, kid, I’m a very busy man, why would I go do something I could get my tech to do?”

Peter felt his heart sink, and even though he knew Tony didn’t mean it as a jab at Peter, he couldn’t help but take it personally. Peter opened his mouth to give Tony a witty comeback when he heard some scrabbling at the window.

“I think it’s here,” Peter said instead. 

“Yep, GPS says so,” Tony answered, a little absentmindedly.

It took less than a minute for a little Iron Man suit fly into Peter’s room, and his mouth dropped as he watched the mini suit land on an open spot on his nightstand, retracting to give Peter access to the bottle of pills that fit perfectly in its chest cavity. 

“Whoa, Mr. Stark! That’s so cool!”

“I knew you’d like it, kiddo. That’s yours to keep,” Tony said, a smile in his voice. 

“Wait, really? Oh my gosh, Ned’s gonna die. Like, literally, I think he’ll have a stroke when he sees this. It’s amazing, Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter gushed, so enthralled with the mini suit that he momentarily forgot his pain.

“I’m glad you like it, kid. I’ve got some fancy donor party that Pepper forced me into by threat of silent treatment, so I’ll talk to you later, but remember to take those pills, okay? I don’t want you so dazzled by my genius you can’t sleep.” 

Peter huffed out a laugh and immediately regretted it. “Ow. I’ll definitely take those pills, Mr. Stark.” 

“Good. I think it’s bedtime for you, have fun with those broken ribs, Pete.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Peter grumbled, unable to hide the smile in his tone. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.” 

“Night, kid,” Tony replied softly before ending the call and leaving Peter on his own.

As much as Peter was grateful for the effort Tony had put into developing painkillers that would actually work for him, Peter didn’t take them. A part of him wanted to; they were right there, and he could actually get rid of pain for the first time since the bite. But the other part of him, the bigger part, wanted to feel this pain, so if he didn’t take the pills, no one had to know.

Plus, the pills were only for emergencies and this didn’t qualify; he could tough it out, he was Spider-man. So Peter left the little Iron Man suit untouched on his nightstand and tried to sleep, heart warmed by what Tony had done for him, but also immensely guilty for interrupting his party. Consumed by guilt and pain, sleep evaded him for one hour, then two, then two-and-a-half, and he eventually gave up on sleep entirely, picking up his phone to while the hours away before he had to get up.

It was Sunday, anyway; it was no big deal if he didn’t sleep. And he’d avoid the nightmares, too, so, really, it was a win-win. The hours passed slowly, painfully, and his room steadily brightened with the rise of the sun. He could hear May leave for her six a.m. shift, the familiar sound of her footsteps alerting him to just how long he’d been up.

At this point, he was in dramatically less pain, but his side still felt bruised. It was only the gnawing of his empty stomach that finally forced Peter out of bed. He moved slowly at first, testing the waters, but the lingering pain was nothing in comparison to how it had felt the previous night, so he walked gingerly to the bathroom for a long, hot shower that couldn’t have come sooner; he felt disgusting still covered in sweat and dirt from patrol.

Once clean and dressed, Peter stumbled into the kitchen, holding back a wince as he reached for the cereal box on top of the fridge. He shoveled down three bowls rapidly. He would have eaten more, but he didn’t want to finish the box and leave May with nothing until shopping day. After rinsing his bowl, Peter dropped onto the couch, set to spend the day watching reality television. He was too tired to focus on homework, and he’d probably get yelled at by more than one person if he went out on patrol just hours after he’d broken two ribs, regardless of his healing abilities. 

Peter was three episodes into a Cupcake Wars marathon when he heard a knock at the door. He sighed and slowly got up, it was probably some neighbor wanting to talk to May, but before he made it all the way to the door, he heard the lock flip open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? A cliffhanger? Hope you all enjoyed, the end bit forced its way in at the last second and the cliffhanger just happened, but I like it. I'm hoping to post every week or two, I have midterms and then a surgery over spring break, as well as trying to work things out with a beta, but I'll do my best to update regularly.
> 
> Fic rec to spread the love: there's a universe inside your head, constellations of the things you left unsaid  
> it has fewer interactions than this fic, and the writing is like 100x better. Go read it, it's angst, you'll like it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I haven't posted in a while because I had surgery and my body did not like it, also because I got a beta!  
> Clairdeloon is my amazing beta and we've spent the past week or two re-doing the published chapters. I'd encourage everyone to go back and read them, they're much better done now and I'm super proud of them (don't worry, no plot things changed, the quality of writing just went up).
> 
> This chapter is uh, mildly filler? I came up with the cliffhanger when what's now chapter 4 was already written, so if it seems a little fillery that's why. It's cute and fluffy though, so still worth the read.
> 
> Content warning: Really all you need to know about this chapter is some anxious thinking, it's a pretty light one :)

Peter was immediately on high alert, the only other people who had keys to his apartment were Aunt May and Ned. Aunt May would have let him know if she was coming home early, and Ned would have at least texted before he showed up. The logical conclusion then, was, of course, that someone was breaking into his apartment.

Peter braced himself for a fight, stepping back from the door, spreading his feet, and raising his fists in front of his face. The door opened swiftly, the intruder took a step inside, and Peter leapt. Only to hear a spluttering noise and, “Peter, I have a heart condition. Tone down the theatrics a bit, would you?” from Tony.

Peter, now on top of Tony on the floor, disentangled himself and stood up, flushing. “Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he said, wincing at his mistake.

Tony pushed himself up on an arm and looked up at Peter. “Apology accepted, but you’re on thin ice.” The smirk on his face belied his ominous words. Tony pulled himself to his feet, one hand braced on the wall, and adjusted his clothes before he spoke again. “Now that we’ve established that I’m not here to steal all of your aunt’s silver-” Peter flushed again, smiling ruefully, and strongly resisting the urge to apologize a second time. “I’m just here to check up on you.” 

“Okay?” Peter said, before doing a verbal double-take, “Wait, since when did you have a key to our apartment?” 

“Your aunt gave me one, once she learned you were Spider-Man and after she yelled at me for, oh, thirty minutes or so, but even if she hadn’t, I already had one premade,” Tony said nonchalantly while pulling out his phone.

Peter’s mouth dropped open, and for a moment he forgot how to make words. “I’m sorry, May _gave_ you a key to the apartment?” 

Tony shot a glance at Peter, raising an eyebrow, “Yes, that’s what I just said. Did you get a concussion too?” 

“I- what? No.” Peter said, still reeling from the fact that Tony had a key to his apartment, and, more importantly, that _May_ had given it to him, apparently unprompted. 

“You know you’re not really selling your point here, kid,” Tony said, his lips starting to tug up at the corners before he turned back to his phone. “Bruce gave me a list of questions to ask someone with super-healing who’d broken two ribs, so listen up.” 

Peter nodded, trying to appear as though he had a full handle on the situation, even though he very much did not. He followed Tony to the couch, perching on the armrest and waiting for Tony to settle himself on the other side.

“Can you breathe without pain?” Tony asked, with his usual air of authority. 

“Yeah, I mean I’m a little sore, but I’m good, Mr. Stark. I healed perfectly fine, I’m just a bit bruised and tired,” Peter said, resting an arm on the back of the couch and leaning into it more than he should, sleepless night catching up with him

“Ah, ah, ah.” Tony wagged his finger at Peter. “I’m responsible for making sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself, and that means forcing you to sit through medical questions, so perk up.” Tony crossed his arms. “Is your breathing in any way impaired?” 

“No,” Peter said, sighing and accepting defeat; sometimes the whirlwind of Tony in charge was too much to fight. 

“Do your ribs feel like they’ve healed wrong?” 

“Uh, no?” Peter said, wondering just how he was supposed to answer that one. 

Tony scrolled through his phone muttering under his breath before looking up at Peter, “There are like ten more questions, but you tackled me to the floor, so I’m giving you a clean bill of health with an order to stay home today.” He caught Peter’s eye with a stern expression on his face. “You need to recuperate from healing broken ribs overnight.” 

Peter nodded, his head spinning from the sheer oddity of this experience. “So. . . is there any reason you had to come over for this?” Peter asked tentatively.

“Well, you are notoriously good at lying.” At this, Peter could feel his heart drop. Tony continued on. “So I have to validate what you say with my own eyes, you understand. Plus, who doesn’t like a dramatic entrance?”

“I don’t,” Peter volunteered, “Not when I think someone is trying to break into my house.”

Tony paused for a moment, before smiling and shaking his head. “Well, fair enough, I guess. And since I’m done with my medical check-in, I should get out of your hair while you watch...” Tony squinted at the TV which had been left on in Peter’s rush to apprehend the intrusion, “Cupcake Wars?”

Peter’s cheeks went red. “Yeah, it’s a baking show, and they’re doing a marathon today, so, yeah,” he finished lamely, Tony already turning to the door. 

“I’m off, try not to break any more ribs, okay?” Tony called over his shoulder. Peter nodded in response to Tony’s retreating back, and with a click of the door, Tony was gone.

Peter was baffled. What had just happened, why had it happened, and May had given Tony a key to their apartment? 

Peter’s mind spent the whole day cycling through the events of the morning, over and over again. The way Mr. Stark had sounded when he’d said Peter was good at lying made Peter’s heart start to race and his hands a little clammy. Did Mr. Stark know about his other lies, or was he only referring to all the times Peter had told him he was fine while seriously injured?

Mr. Stark had to have some ulterior motive for dropping by, but what was it? Why had he come to check on Peter, when he was usually notoriously hands-off? Could Mr. Stark tell there was something off about him? Peter’s mind wouldn’t stop filling with questions that didn’t have answers. It was all he could do not to be overwhelmed by the thoughts ricocheting around his head.

Peter tried his best to ignore all of the spinning questions, turning back to the new episode of Cupcake Wars. Soon enough, the sleep deprivation caught up with him. His focus faded in and out and he dozed intermittently, unaware of the time passing.

Peter jolted awake when the lock clicked open, and he tensed up, but a quick glance at the clock above the television let him relax. It was just May coming home from work. Sure enough, a moment later he heard her familiar voice over the crinkling of plastic bags.

“Hey, honey, I’m home!” Peter glanced over the back of the couch to see May closing the door with takeout bags in her arms.

“Hi, May,” Peter said, getting up from the couch, only the faintest twinge in his side reminding him of his recently broken ribs. He went over to May, who leaned forward to peck him on the forehead, and grabbed some of the bags, taking them over to their dinner table and pulling containers out of bags while May took off her shoes and grabbed some plates. In a practiced harmony, the two of them quickly had the table set and ready for a meal.

Peter sat down and could barely stop himself from eating so quickly he choked on the noodles as they went down; he’d forgotten lunch, and his healing plus enhanced metabolism meant that he was absolutely starving. May looked at him with amusement, but said nothing, starting her meal at a more reasonable pace.

Peter slowed down after several minutes of frantically inhaling food, and May took that as her cue to start talking. “So, Tony tells me you broke two ribs last night.” She gave Peter a pointed look, and he stopped chewing and slowly swallowed, caught like a deer in headlights.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Baby, you know I don’t like that you’re out there risking your life, but that doesn’t mean I want you hiding injuries from me,” May said imploringly, trying to coax eye contact out of Peter, who was looking more at the grains of wood next to his plate than he was at May. She reached her hand across the table and squeezed his hand.

“I’m- I’m sorry, May,” Peter said, still looking at the table.

“I just,” he sighed, fiddling with his fork, “I heal so fast that there doesn’t seem like a point in telling you. I don’t want to freak you out when I’ll be fine by the morning. You know?” He looked up then to see May’s reaction.

May gave him a sad smile. “Well, tell me anyway, okay? I want to know, I’m your guardian and there’s a certain threshold of information I need to be aware of.”

“Okay,” Peter said, glancing back at his food, but he looked up again when he remembered the morning’s events. “Hey, why does Mr. Stark have a key to our apartment?”

May raised her eyebrows, “Oh,” she chuckled in surprise. “I didn’t think you knew. It was only for emergencies, just in case.”

Peter furrowed his brow, “So then why did Mr. Stark show up this morning?” 

“He what?”

“Yeah, he showed up this morning and I thought he was trying to break in, so I tackled him.” 

May nearly spit out her water. “Really? You tackled him?”

“Well, yeah, I thought someone was trying to break in. Turns out he just wanted to ask me a bunch of medical questions and then he left. It was weird.”

May looked about as confused as he felt. “Huh.” She wrinkled her forehead. “I knew he would monitor your vitals through the suit sometimes and give me updates, but I didn’t think he’d actually come over to check on you.” 

“Me neither,” Peter said, the comment about his vitals already joining the myriad of worries he had amassed over the day.

May and Peter ate in silence for a few minutes thinking about the events of the day, when May piped up, “So, besides the intruder scare, what did you do today?”

“Oh, I did some homework-” He’d done none of his homework. “-and watched a Cupcake Wars marathon.” More like dozed through it. “I didn’t patrol because Mr. Stark _threatened me_ ,” Peter said dramatically.

May rolled her eyes. “I would have too. Actually, I’m threatening you now. No patrol for the next two days, you healed two broken ribs, it can wait.”

It was just as well, considering that Peter had spent most of the day dozing, and he hadn’t even started on the several assignments that were due the next day. He groaned internally. At this rate, he’d have to stay up most of the night to work them to a passable level, messing up his sleep schedule even more. 

Later, Peter stared at the blinking cursor in a still blank document on his computer screen. He was incredibly tempted to make a very basic attempt at his history essay, as well as all of his other assignments, but he couldn’t tank his grades. Not if he wanted to keep his scholarship to Midtown. And especially not if he wanted to prove to May and Mr. Stark that he was capable of balancing school and Spider-Man, because if he didn’t, one would have to go, and it wouldn’t be school.

So, despite his exhaustion and a rapidly growing headache, Peter stayed up until who-knows-when at night struggling through his work. There was no way he’d be going to school the next day with a functioning brain, but at least his Fahrenheit 451 reading was done, and he’d completed all of his algebra and chemistry and history assignments on top of it. 

So he wasn’t failing in the homework department, but in other areas, not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHA, I got you all. At the commenters who were mad at me, I'm sorry, but it was kinda fun so. What do y'all think of this more dialogue-heavy chapter? I hope I did Peter's relationships justice. In any case, writing Tony is always fun.
> 
> Fic (that's better than mine) rec: Inimitable  
> This is an alternate timeline featuring 8 year old Peter and Tony Stark. It's adorable and really creative, I wait with bated breath for every new update.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, I'm making up for the kind-of filler last week by giving you a longer chapter (almost 4.5k!). As always, thanks to my beta, clairdeloon, editing added almost 1k words to the draft, so you can thank them for helping with length on this one.
> 
> Before we get much deeper into the story I'd like to disclaimer that I'm trying to accurately portray self-harm without romanticizing it. Peter may at points do so in his head, simply because that's my experience, but I hope in context it always comes off as a negative thing. If it doesn't, feel free to let me know, I don't want to accidentally encourage self-harm in any way.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Peter had a hard time sleeping that week. His worries over grades and injuries and his ruminating over the various ways Tony might have found out about the broken ribs kept his mind racing almost constantly. 

On Monday, he’d hacked into the suit before going on patrol so that Tony was only alerted of life-threatening injuries. He felt bad doing it, guilty, even, but he didn’t want Tony breathing down his neck and checking in on him after every injury, it was too risky. Even so, every time he cut or got the smallest bruise on purpose, a loud, paranoid part of his mind screamed that Tony would somehow find out. He couldn’t seem to stop the thoughts, and the more anxious he got, the more he needed a distraction.

On Friday, Peter drifted his way through the school day with shaking hands and panic that seeped into his bones. It was one of the worst days he’d had since starting to cut, and all he wanted was to go home, to get away from all the people and the noise and the thoughts swirling in his head. The only problem with that plan was that the hours seemed to pass five times more slowly than they should have. Peter was worn out from the constant state of alert his body was in, his brain so frazzled from lack of sleep and panic that he couldn’t think straight, and his heart felt like it was shaking along with the rest of him.

Peter called it quits before he even reached the cafeteria, the large openness of it somehow made him feel more edgy on a good day, and the chattering of students, seeming louder than normal, deterred him even more. Peter and Ned were in a different class before lunch, and they usually met at a table after getting their food. But Peter couldn’t brave stepping foot in the cafeteria today.

Peter hurried away from the doors to the cafeteria, eager to get away, and slipped into a rarely-used bathroom; he needed quiet and calm, a place to collect himself. He locked himself in a stall and gave himself a moment to level out a bit, before pulling out his phone and texting Ned.

_I'm skipping lunch  
i totally forgot about the spanish quiz today  
and i haven’t studied like at all_

Peter shut off his phone and flipped it over, too scared to stare at the screen waiting for a response. His phone buzzed almost instantly with a text back from Ned.

_wise choice  
today’s disgusting meatloaf day  
i swear they put like rat meat in it or something_

Peter blew air out of his mouth, rapidly deflating, and glad that Ned had bought his lie. He had actually forgotten about the spanish quiz, but he’d studied for it the night before, probably too much, if he was honest. This line of thinking was doing nothing to calm him down, and his eyes drifted over to his backpack. It was resting on the dirty bathroom floor and there was a pull toward it that Peter couldn’t help but give in to. 

Rummaging through his bag, Peter grabbed hold of the small plastic container he’d hidden in an inner pocket, feeling weird pulling out the blades in a public place. He was hidden in a stall, but still, it felt as though he was broadcasting his secret, and everyone around him would just know. 

But they wouldn’t really, though, how could they? There was no one in the bathroom. Even so, Peter made some quick cuts and put the blades away, just in case. They were more like scratches, really, too shallow for his liking, but Peter didn’t want any stray blood to give him away.

He stayed in the bathroom for most of his lunch period, leaving some time for him to get to the library and meet up with Ned outside, a habit when one of them had an emergency study period during lunch. Making new cuts when the old ones healed, Peter tried to steady himself for the rest of the school day. When it was nearly time for him to leave he hid the blades again, as deep as he could in a hidden pocket, and prayed that no one would know they were there. 

Walking around with still bleeding wounds made him feel as if there was something different that everyone would notice, even if it was well hidden beneath dark jeans and a fake smile. It didn’t take long for the crowded, jostling hallways to rub away the thin layer of calm Peter had managed to scrounge up before leaving the bathroom. In less than an hour, every movement and word was back to grating on his frayed nerves, and Peter would give anything to be able to go curl up in a dark room for the weekend.

Ned shot him the odd worried glance but didn’t comment until the end of the day. “Did the Spanish quiz stress you out that much? You look awful.”

Peter shrugged, “Guess so, I’m mostly just tired, though. Can’t wait to get home and nap.” Thankfully, that was enough to convince Ned, and it hadn’t even been a lie. Going home and napping seemed like the perfect way to spend his afternoon.

Peter felt as though he was on autopilot on his way home. He tried to zone out once he found a seat on the subway, but all he could think about was whether he was sitting oddly, or if he should be looking at his phone, or leaning his head against the window, or was that a bad idea? He’d lived in New York his entire life and yet he couldn’t seem to decide on what the subway code of conduct was. His constant vigilance towards other people and himself meant that he sat stiffly, scared to move in any strange way, and ultimately tiring him even more.

Peter was so distracted by his thoughts that he got off as soon as the train stopped without even looking. To be fair, it seemed like the right amount of time had passed. In any case, he was familiar with the subway stops in quite a large radius around his apartment, so he could get home easily if he was off by one or two. 

Peter walked quickly, muscle memory guiding his steps. Nothing looked quite right; it was all slightly too real and too bright and too saturated. Peter shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut to try and make the world go back to looking normal.

It didn’t, instead, his eyes caught on a fairly empty park he’d definitely never seen before. The realization that he was lost didn’t shock him as much as it should have, surprising him and making his heart drop at first, the fear then immediately disappearing to be replaced by annoyance, he knew something was off, he should’ve paid attention to it. He was completely and utterly lost, and he should have known. He must have taken a wrong turn, or gotten off the subway at the wrong stop, or both. That was all it took for the panic to bubble over.

His heart fluttering in his throat, Peter pulled out his phone with trembling fingers to check the GPS, but when he pressed the power button all he got was a low battery signal. Just great, he was lost in a giant city with no way to figure out where he was or contact anyone. His stupid, tired brain had left his charger plugged into the wall next to his bed, and his spidersuit in a heap on the floor, so he was well and truly stuck.

He was absolutely not going into a store or talking to strangers on the street; it felt like a guarantee that he would throw up, pass out, or die of anxiety. So, he did the next best thing and headed over to the park, which was mercifully quiet, and climbed onto one of the trees that lined the park. Several large branches met about halfway up and created a small, flat space that Peter could sit in relatively comfortably, shielded by leaves. It was like a little safety bubble, the perfect place for him to wait until the streets were less crowded and he could try and find his way home. He couldn’t be around people right now; being surrounded by strangers was just too much to add to his already incredibly taxed system. He was so tired, he just wanted to be home, and not in whatever mess this was.

The next thing Peter felt was a warm hand, in sharp contrast with the cool breeze moving past him, shaking his shoulder, and a quiet voice saying, “Hey, Peter, wake up.” 

The voice, Mr. Stark’s, was laced with worry, and Peter could almost feel the relief rush through the man when he shivered and started to move. Peter sleepily sat up and scooted as far away from Tony as he could in the crook of the tree. Tony had, somehow, managed to fit himself up there, but he looked rather cramped and he seemed a bit annoyed. 

“Kid, what the hell was that?” Tony started, anger practically pouring out of him. 

Peter curled up as tight as possible, not even looking directly at Tony and preparing for the lecture. 

“You can’t do this, kid. May didn’t know where you were, I didn’t know where you were. What were you thinking? And why-” Tony gestured wildly, “Why did you fall asleep in a tree?” The anger in Tony’s voice had receded, and he now just sounded terribly confused. 

Peter dared to look up at him then and even when he saw Tony’s face drawn with lines, worry filling every inch, all he could muster in response was a shrug.

That sent Tony over the edge. “Kid, you dropped off the face of the earth and were apparently calm enough about disappearing to fall asleep, and all you deign to give me is a shrug?” Tony shifted into another equally uncomfortable position. “I got a frantic call from your aunt wondering where you were because you weren’t answering your phone and none of your friends knew where you were. I had to run around searching for you, your aunt and I _both_ expecting the worst-”

Peter opened his mouth, what was he supposed to have done? Tony paused, as though expecting Peter to say something, (he wanted to, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth) but he went on when Peter snapped his mouth shut and lowered his head towards his knees.

“I have half a mind to leave you here,” Tony said tightly. “You got yourself into this, you get out of it. 

Peter tensed, and Tony’s face softened the slightest bit. “But I’m not gonna do that,” he said in a quieter tone, though no less stern. “I think a weekend of being grounded is in order. You’re coming to the tower with me, and you’re on lockdown all weekend. Now, get out of this tree or so help me-” 

Tony didn’t finish his sentence, and Peter couldn’t tell if it was because he was so mad he wasn’t able to get it out, or if what he was planning to say was bad enough that Tony had actually decided to censor himself. Peter also couldn’t tell which was worse. He hadn’t seen Tony this upset since he’d taken the spidersuit away. It should’ve filled Peter with fear and worry, but it didn’t. It seemed his brain had decided emotions were off the table and it was done functioning correctly. 

Tony climbed down the tree after a minute of silence, and Peter reluctantly followed. Tony led him to a black Audi, very clearly his and not inconspicuous at all, that was idling at the curb. Happy was waiting inside, and when Peter slid into the back seat, Happy gave him a glare.  
“Really?” was all he said, with a disappointed and slightly annoyed look, before rolling up the panel between the seats after Peter didn’t respond. He knew he should feel bad for making everyone upset, but he didn’t.

The ride to the tower was tense, Peter spent it looking out the window, and Tony wouldn’t stop staring at him. Peter could tell from the fuzzy reflection in the glass that Tony moved to start speaking and then thought better of it several times, before pulling out his phone,

“Hey, May,” Tony started dryly. Peter cringed. Great, this was going to be a passive-aggressive phone call, fun. “I found Peter, asleep. In a tree.” May was clearly startled by this news, as Tony had to reaffirm what he’d said several times, but Peter didn’t care to pay close enough attention to hear what May was saying.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s possessed him, but he won’t say anything. He’s acting like he doesn’t even see anything wrong with the situation-” A muffled sound from May cut Tony off.

“Yeah,” Tony continued. “I’m taking him to the tower with me-” Another sound from May. “-yes, we can’t let this happen again. And don’t worry, I have state of the art security that not even Spiderman,” Tony shot a pointed glance at Peter, “can circumvent.”

The call ended. “God, I sound like my dad,” Tony mumbled, shoving the phone into his pocket.

Peter could feel his anxiety nagging him at the back of his head and starting to cut through the numbness, his hands were already shaking. This was going to be a terrible weekend. His breath caught in his chest, and the trembling spread, swirling panic permitted to make as much noise as it wanted inside of his head, no longer stifled.

By the time they’d gotten to the tower, Peter had worked himself into such a state that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it up to his room without throwing up. The elevator ride only made the feeling worse, and if Tony was talking to him, Peter couldn’t tell, he was too focused on trying not to collapse, his legs so shaky they shouldn’t have been able to support him.

Peter left the elevator and went straight to his room, avoiding any further contact with Tony or Happy. When Peter closed the door behind him, he all but collapsed against it, sinking to the ground to catch his breath and attempt to slow his racing thoughts. 

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and he squeezed them shut against the burning, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He hated crying. He was just angry; he was being grounded and he hadn’t even been able to explain himself. Not that he would have been able to find the words. Explaining the reasons for what he did was too much information to tell Tony or May.

He didn’t even really mind being grounded all that much; it was the edge in Tony’s voice, and Happy’s, and May’s that was getting to him. Peter hadn’t even technically done anything wrong; he’d been perfectly fine, he could’ve gotten home on his own.

Tony hated him, there was no mistaking it. Peter knew it would come out eventually, he wasn’t even sure why Tony was still keeping him around. He’d take away the suit and leave Peter on his own, fighting crime in the dirty old sweatsuit he’d kept in the back of his closet, just in case. May probably hated him too, the only truthful one of the bunch was Happy, who’d at least been honest from the start.

Peter hadn’t thought he could feel worse, but this… yeah, the guilt of hanging around where he wasn’t welcome was the cherry on top. Peter scrambled to his feet and made his way toward the bathroom; he didn’t have any blades here; he’d left his bag in the car, and somehow that made him want to cut more.

He knew it was risky, but he needed to do something to calm down. Peter sat on the closed lid of the toilet and ordered FRIDAY to lock his bedroom and bathroom doors, and not to let anyone in. When he was sure she hadn’t alerted Tony of something, he turned on the shower and dug around under his sink until he found an unused razor. He made quick work of disassembling it and retrieving the blades. Then, with another glance at the door, and an extra gag order on FRIDAY for good measure, he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower.

Peter quickly went to work on his legs, digging the blade into them but barely feeling any pain. He just couldn’t stop, he was so mad, and so upset, and so tired. Even the multitude of cuts on his legs didn’t feel like enough, so he turned to his stomach, and it was only when he‘d covered the area once over that the panic began to recede. The water hadn’t hit his stomach yet, and he’d been using the shower more as cover and an easy clean up than anything else, so when Peter turned around to face the stream of water to wash away the blood, it was all he could do not to cry out in pain, the sting of water against his wounds finally making them hurt.

The sharp stinging subsided after a few minutes, and Peter stared down at what he’d done, mesmerized by the blood flowing down his body. Water always made it seem as though there was so much more, and Peter wondered what would happen if he actually made himself bleed that much. Peter stared until the water ran mostly clear down the drain, unable to stop himself, and wishing he could’ve done more, cut deeper, but he was too tired to keep going. Instead, he stepped out of the shower and dabbed at the remaining beads of blood that had appeared before getting redressed and heading back into his room.

Peter was exhausted, and when he got to his bed he collapsed on top of it. He was still wearing his clothes from earlier in the day, and he didn’t bother to get under the covers. The idea of moving enough to change or get under the blankets was too tiring to even think about. Within minutes, Peter was out, the warm darkness pulling him in, finally calming his mind.

Peter slept soundly through the night and into the next day. When he woke up shortly before noon, he couldn’t even be bothered to wonder how he’d slept in so late, he just rolled over and went back to sleep. He was grounded and had zero responsibilities, so what was the harm? 

The second time he woke up, he was hungry, but it was a distant feeling, barely there, and the tiredness won out. He lay awake for less than ten minutes, though for all he cared it could have been hours, before drifting off back to sleep. His dreams were non-existent, and even his sleep felt heavy, different than usual. It was like weight had been added to every action and every thought, and all it did was press him further into the mattress, making anything but sleep impossible. 

The next time Peter woke up, it was evening, and he could smell food, the scent making his stomach grumble, but he still didn’t have enough energy to care. All he could do was roll over, only to find Tony leaning against the door frame, staring him down. 

“Sleeping Beauty awakens!” Tony said with a flourish, once he realized Peter’s eyes were open. “Care to tell me why you’ve been sleeping the day away? ‘Cause if you hate being grounded that much, I should do it more often.” 

Peter shrugged in response “‘m just tired,” he said, snuggling more into the pillow. 

Tony walked to the edge of the bed, sitting down to get at Peter’s level, “Even when I haven’t slept for days, I never sleep for eighteen hours in one shot, what gives?” Peter was already annoyed with this conversation, he just wanted to get back to sleep; however, the energy to do anything but bury his face in his pillow was gone. Besides, even if he could roll over, Tony would just walk to the other side of the bed, rendering his efforts useless. Peter sighed into the pillow.

“Come on, kid, talk to me. I’m gonna stay here until you give me an answer, so just bite the bullet and do it.” Peter didn’t respond, but the pressure of Tony being there, waiting for an answer, was slowly increasing his anxiety and he was not happy about it. Tony poked the part of his cheek that wasn’t covered by a pillow “You in there?” 

“Just leave me alone, Mr. Stark.” Peter snapped, raising his head enough so the words weren’t muffled, before dropping his head back down. 

“Annoyed, are we?” Tony chuckled. “You know, I think I’m allowed to annoy you a little. It’s only payback for almost giving me a heart attack.”

Peter lifted his head from the pillow to give Tony what he hoped was glare and said, “Leave. Me. Alone.” before plopping his head down again. 

Tony met his eyes, and suddenly, the tone changed. Peter didn’t know what had done it until Tony finished what he was saying. “Peter, are you ok?” The words rang around in his head, he hated it. He’d been dreading those words, because if someone asked, especially with the amount of concern Tony’s voice held, it meant that they knew.

It meant that they looked at him and saw something wrong, it meant that his act had failed, and his attempt at seeming normal was as fake as it felt. It meant that they were worried about him, and he didn’t want that kind of pity, especially from Tony Stark. Peter could deal with this on his own, there was no point in troubling anyone else. A little lie could go a long way. He’d be able to convince Tony of something.

It would be a stretch of a lie, but it would work and Tony would accept it; he was oblivious enough about Peter that it would slip by him. But it didn’t, because instead of doing the smart thing, Peter didn’t lie. Peter wasn’t brave enough to look Tony in the face when he said, “Everything’s just really heavy.”

There was a pause before Tony said, “Is this like your space thing?” 

Peter felt like he was suffocating in his pillow, so he readjusted, sliding his arms underneath the pillows and resting his chin on top of them, looking at the headboard of his bed. 

“Kind of,” he said, tracing over the pattern in the wood with his eyes. 

“Ok,” Tony said, leaning his back against Peter’s nightstand. “So what’s heavy, your body?” Peter nodded.

“Is that why you’re so tired?” he asked, searching. Peter nodded again. Tony sighed, “I- what am I supposed to do, Kid?” 

Peter shrugged. “Dunno. You’re the one who wanted to know.” 

The bite in Peter’s words was still very much present, but all Tony said was, “Bet the heavy feeling is making you mad, too.” Peter didn’t respond to that. 

Tony sighed again. “You hungry?” Peter shook his head. He was, but he couldn’t get up and eat, he didn’t have the energy. 

Tony gave him an unreadable look before shaking his head and getting up off the floor. “Well, I’ll be in the common room or the lab if you need me. You may be grounded, but I’m not going to starve you.”

Peter stared vacantly at his headboard, not really caring what Tony had to say at this point, just waiting for him to leave. Thankfully, Tony did, though only after an agonizingly long time spent lingering in the doorway, hoping for a response of some kind. Peter knew Tony was worried, but his concern felt suffocating and Peter couldn’t find it in himself to endure it. 

Even though Peter was heavy and ready to sleep, his encounter with Tony was running through his head, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Annoyingly, this kept him awake, interrupting him every time he started to drift off. Peter refused to get up and do something to take the edge off of his anxious jitters, because he knew Tony would be around and he didn’t want to deal with him, or anyone.

Peter’s brain was exhausted from all the thinking, though not exhausted enough to let him sleep through the night. Peter was awake for hours, time moving like syrup, coating his brain and everything around him. It was late at night, and all he could focus on was the trembling in his whole body and his racing heart, brain still sticky from syrup and his ears full of fuzz. He had to lay there focusing on calming himself for ten minutes before he could even think about getting out of bed. The stupid panic wouldn’t leave him alone, and he was tired of it.

Peter got out of bed for the first time in more than a day and padded towards the common room, a blanket hanging off his shoulders. The room was dark and quiet, and he slowed his movements, not wanting to break the tranquil silence of the night. 

He situated himself on the floor, leaning into the corner of the L-shaped couch and looking out at the skyline. His brain was still clogged and slow, but now he had a distraction, something to look at. Something big to remind his brain that it didn’t take up as much space as it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, what'd y'all think? Were my texts readable? this was my first time putting them in a fic, so I'm not sure what's best. Also, I'm sorry, but it's gotta get worse before it gets better, so this is just the beginning. (lol we still have four more things left on the list before we make it to the +1) 
> 
> Wash your hands and stay inside my friends :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the first to have a major rework from the first draft to posting (only like the beginning three paragraphs stayed intact) so major thanks to my beta @clairdeloon for helping with the small mess this draft was after I rewrote it. I also finally made an outline and a timeline for this fic, I usually hate trying to make those, but I was scared of accidentally screwing up continuity. I think I'm a pro writer now. Hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> content warnings: thoughts of self harm, some depression/anxiety, a touch of dissociation

Peter woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of sizzling bacon mingled with murmuring voices. He slowly cracked his eyes open and scanned the room. He was on the floor, nestled into the corner of a large sectional. To his left were large floor-to-ceiling windows, and to his right was a kitchen in which Tony was seated, nursing a mug of coffee, and Pepper was leaning against the counter next to the stove, watching over the cooking food. They were speaking in low voices, presumably so as not to wake him. 

There was a peaceful air about the room, and Peter wanted to revel in it forever, the comfortable little bubble too nice to break. So he stayed still and quiet, observing everything going on with alert eyes. Peter could easily hear their muffled conversation, his super-hearing picking up on the words clearly.

“I just don’t know what to do, Pep,” Tony said with a sigh. “There’s something up with him.”

Pepper gently rubbed Tony’s shoulder, “He’s a teenager, Tony. Teenagers do stupid things all the time, you were no exception, give him some slack.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “I just- I don’t know, this feels like something else. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s definitely up.” Tony took a sip of his coffee, “He wouldn’t tell me anything either, just kept giving infuriatingly vague answers.”

Pepper scooped the bacon and eggs she’d made onto two plates while saying, “It’s not unusual though, is it? You’ve mentioned his tendency to keep pretty major things to himself.” She put the pan in the sink and retrieved some silverware. “Tony, you’re probably still Iron Man first in his eyes, I’m not surprised that you’re the last person he confides in.”

Tony grabbed a fork. “Then what am I supposed to do? Wait for something to happen?”

“Well, why don’t you talk to him? Sit down and have a real conversation.”

Tony shot a glance at Peter, but he didn’t seem to notice that Peter was awake. He leaned his head on one of his hands and started to speak again. “I don’t know, I-” 

He snapped his mouth shut when Pepper held up a hand, nodding in Peter’s direction. Tony looked back, his eyes widening slightly when he caught Peter’s eye. “Oh, hey, kid. Come join us for breakfast.” Tony gestured loosely at the seats near him.

Peter didn’t respond, clinging to the comforting air in the room, wishing it would stay. After several moments of silence, Tony gave Pepper a look that clearly meant ‘I told you so’. He looked back at Peter then, tapping his fingers rhythmically. “Guess I signed up for problems when I decided to ground a moody teenager.”

Pepper not-so-subtly mouthed something at Tony, gesturing in Peter’s direction, urging him over. Tony begrudgingly took the hint and got off of his chair, heading over to the couch and sitting next to Peter. He draped an arm over the back of the sofa and crossed his legs, settling in. “So tell me, what’s up with you? Teenage mood swings? Drugs? Alien curse? Clue me in, here.”

When Peter didn’t respond again, Tony tapped his knee with a socked foot. “You still alive?” 

Again, Peter didn’t reply, but only because he didn’t quite know how. Yeah, he was alive, probably, but he was off somehow, something about him felt distant and far away. Tony’s expectant gaze and impatiently tapping fingers broke through his reluctance to talk. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse and the words feeling wrong on his tongue.

“Thank god for that, your aunt would murder me if anything happened to you.” Tony said, relief visible in his features. “So, food?” 

Peter shrugged. He should eat, super metabolism and everything, but he wasn’t really hungry; he couldn’t bring himself to care enough. 

Tony sighed and got up from the couch, walking back to the island and beckoning for Peter to follow. “C’mon, at least sit with us.” 

Peter didn’t want to, but today wasn’t about what he wanted to do, today was about pretending he was okay so no one would ask questions. He got up and walked to the island, the journey seeming to take three times as long as it should have. He was annoyed for no reason, already stretched to a breaking point he didn’t know he had. Still, he hopped onto a chair, giving a small smile to Pepper in greeting.

Pepper smiled back, and Tony wouldn’t stop staring at him. It was weird, even for Tony, and Peter wasn’t in the mood for attention. Pepper turned to her phone, quickly tapping across the screen with one hand and eating with the other. The three didn’t speak for some time, and the room was quiet except for the scraping of utensils on plates. When Tony’s voice eventually cut through the silence, Peter had to stop himself from jumping. “So Peter, what do you want to do today?”

The question was open-ended and vague, so Peter was open-ended and vague with his answer. “Want and need are two different things, Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, Plato.” Tony smiled a bit, breaking his serious facade, and Peter felt marginally better.

“I’ve got homework,” Peter said, shrugging, in the hopes that it would give him a way out.

Tony squinted at him. “Isn’t that exactly what you said after telling me you couldn’t go to Berlin?”

“It’s true, though,” Peter said, defensiveness creeping into his voice. 

Tony huffed. “Alright, then.”

The rest of breakfast was silent, save for a few times Pepper updated Tony on Stark Industries business, Peter sitting and waiting until he could escape to his room. Eventually, Pepper left for a meeting with somebody important, Peter didn’t know who, and Peter took the opportunity to all but leap off of his chair, and he had to stop himself from sprinting to his room when Tony called, “Meet me in the lab when you’re done!”

Peter nodded, barely stopping to acknowledge that he’d heard Tony. He couldn’t be happier to get a moment alone, he needed to decompress for a minute, or five, or thirty. He sat on his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest, trying to calm down and slow his racing heart. He took deep breaths, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears filling his eyes. What was wrong with him? Why did he want to cry?

It took some time, but Peter got himself moving, grabbing a textbook from his backpack, which had been delivered to his room some time during breakfast. But as soon as he opened the book, every ounce of motivation he had drained out of him. He managed to skim four pages of his chemistry textbook, and simply glanced at the cover of his math book before calling it quits. It was a pathetic attempt at homework, but he just. . . couldn’t. 

Peter hung around his room for another thirty minutes, so that it at least looked like he’d done something. He spent the extra time trying to collect himself before heading down to the lab, in the hopes that he’d be able to tolerate Tony’s company without immediately breaking down. 

Peter made it to the lab, calm and collected as he could manage. Thankfully, once Tony gave Peter instructions to help build a new SI product prototype, he didn’t talk much. Peter followed suit, starting on his project, and the two of them lost themselves in the work. Tony settled into working on some code that Peter could barely follow from the few glimpses he caught, and Peter focused on trying to build a prototype from a blueprint because, according to Tony, he needed practice following directions. 

Peter didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was a while later when Pepper entered the lab in a flurry. She admonished Tony for skipping lunch and shooed both he and Peter up to the dining room for food. Peter tried his best to put on a face for Pepper, pretending he was his normal self and rambling about the project they were working on. He smiled at her comments, answered her questions, and ate the food Tony set in front of him.

Peter spent after lunch with Tony in the lab as well; it seemed as though Tony’s (very loose) idea of grounding meant that Peter had no access to social media and couldn’t leave the tower. Peter didn’t know what he’d been expecting from Tony when he was grounded, but it certainly wasn’t working in the lab with him and helping with the latest Stark Industries project. Peter liked the distraction, even if there was a constant buzz in the back of his brain worrying about if Tony was going to try and confront him. Peter knew that what had gotten him grounded was irresponsible and stupid, but he really didn’t want to talk about it.

Some time in the afternoon, Tony stopped working and tapped Peter on the shoulder, leaning against the workbench and meeting Peter’s eyes when he looked up. “Peter, we need to talk.”

Peter swallowed, his heart beating loudly, and his head already clouded with worries about what was to come. “Yeah?” 

“You seem to be a little off recently, what’s up?” Tony’s focused, searching gaze was fully leveled at Peter, and it was all Peter could do not to look away.

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “Nothing.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow. 

Peter swallowed thickly. “Really, Mr. Stark, it’s nothing, school’s just busy, y’know?”

Tony crossed his arms. “Not really, care to elaborate?”

Peter fiddled with the hem of his shirt, “Well, it’s just a lot of work, and we’ve got these big tests coming up, including the SATs, and all the teachers are stressing how important everything is, so it’s just kind of a lot.”

Tony paused for a moment, seeming unconvinced. “You sure?” 

Peter nodded. “Yeah.” He paused, and realized exactly what would diffuse the situation. “My English teacher recently gave us a whole talk about, like, bringing barf bags to the test, because she said she didn’t want to deal with anybody puking all over the floor like last year.”

“That happens?” Tony asked incredulously.

Peter chuckled, “Yeah, last year I saw three different kids throw up or faint during a test.”

“Jesus.” Tony rubbed his forehead, smearing grease from his hand across it.

“Yeah.” Peter shrugged. “It’s pretty common to freak out, but don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“You do know that just because it’s common doesn’t mean it’s okay?” Tony sounded nonchalant, but Peter could tell it was forced, and that Tony was trying to get something out of him.

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter said. “But what do you suggest? Rebuilding the entire American school system from the ground up?”

Tony chuckled lightly. “I was thinking more along the lines of making you take more breaks, cool off for a bit until you’re feeling better and there are fewer tests.”

Peter shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. In any case, I don’t get away from tests until the summer. It’s kind of just how school works these days.”

Tony sighed. “I don’t like this, kid, I really think you should be easing up a bit.”

“No really, I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter said earnestly.

“Don’t think I won’t be having a chat with your aunt about this,” Tony said over his shoulder, turning to his work station slowly, and almost hesitantly, as though there were words left unsaid.

Peter sat nervously, waiting until he was sure Tony was back to work before letting himself relax a bit. He’d just barely dodged that bullet, and he knew Tony wouldn’t forget about this. Peter was going to have to be less obvious with his breakdowns. He didn’t want anyone to know, this was his problem, not theirs.

Peter’s tongue still felt heavy, his lips a little too tightly pressed; talking wasn’t as easy as he supposed it should be, but he guessed that was just how it was going to be for a while. Peter and Tony were called up for dinner, and when Peter turned the corner into the kitchen, he noticed Thai takeout boxes from his favorite restaurant were spread across the table. Peter couldn’t help but wonder how Tony had discovered that information, and instead of the gesture warming his heart, it made him worry about what other things Tony had knowledge of.

Dinner was a little tense, and Peter excused himself as soon as he could, feeling too on edge to want to hang around afterward. He sat on the floor of his room and leaned against the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. Tony was way too close to discovering everything that Peter wanted to keep buried; he was too smart and too observant to be deceived for long. The truth would come out eventually; the question was when and to what extent. 

But he couldn’t let Tony find out, he just couldn’t. No one could know about the relief, the satisfaction, that the feeling of pain gave him now. That sometimes he didn’t want to eat, because he couldn’t care less if he went hungry. And if sometimes he felt like he deserved the pain ...well, that was a secret buried so deep Peter liked to pretend it didn’t exist.

Peter stayed up late into the night, unable to sleep on his secrets. He felt exposed, as though everything was out in the open, and it shouldn’t be, it couldn’t be. He was fine, perfectly absolutely fine, nobody needed to dig into his personal business, he was dealing with it.

* * *

When Peter got home from school the next day, he was accosted by May before he’d managed to finish closing the door. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker! What were you thinking?” She was on the verge of yelling, her voice terse and her face stern.

Peter opened his mouth to respond but May cut him off. “I thought you were bleeding out in an alley somewhere, Peter, you can’t keep doing this.” She stepped forward, clamping her hands down on Peter’s shoulders. She caught Peter’s eye, and he bit his lip hard, wanting nothing more than to look away. But he couldn’t. Not when she was looking at him like that. “What possessed you to do that? Why did you think it was okay? I was so- so worried.” Her voice caught, and Peter noticed the tears welling in her eyes. 

May pulled him into a hug, enveloping Peter in her warmth and the floral smell of her perfume. She kept him there, wrapped tightly in her arms until his shoulders ached, but he didn’t pull away. He could practically feel her worry permeating the air around him, and the best he could do was stay put. 

When May pulled out of the hug she gave Peter a once-over, hands still on his shoulders, and met his eyes when she was satisfied he was in one piece. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again. Do you understand me?” Peter nodded and tried to pull back, but May was stronger than her small frame indicated. “I know you already spent the weekend grounded, but you’re suspended from going on patrol for the rest of the week.” 

“But I wasn’t even on patrol when-” Peter closed his mouth at the look she gave him.

“I know,” May said in a calmer tone. “But I think you need a bit of time to mull things over. Besides, if that was when you were off patrol, I’d hate to see what happens when you’re out in the suit.”

Peter sighed. “Okay.”

Clearly, Tony had followed up on his promise to contact May about his school schedule. It was weird, though; Peter felt a surprising lack of frustration at taking a break from Spider-Man. Maybe, just this once, he’d be able to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Peter focused on trying to build a prototype from a blueprint because, according to Tony, he needed practice following directions."  
> can I just highlight the peak of my comedic writing? thank you.
> 
> next chapter is going to start a shift, an angsty one, that may be starting to introduce part two of five. . .


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I'm back! Apologies for such a long gap between updates, but this chapter fought me the whole way through. I think in total I've been through four or five drafts, and most of them were rewrites, every time I got stuff down it just seemed wrong somehow. 
> 
> This chapter is the beginning of a storyline relating to eating disorder behaviors, my beta, @clairedeloon, and I are doing our best to make sure we aren't romanticizing or sugarcoating anything. I have personal experience and am doing my best to write it in a real way, including all of the hard, awful bits. Anything in these chapters that's positive towards ED behaviors I'm trying to keep in the realms of Peter's thought process, as people with an ED tend to romanticize their own experiences. If it ever seems like I'm making positive statements outside of that context, please let me know.
> 
> Content Warning: anxiety, mild suicidal thoughts, disordered eating, thoughts about self-harm

Peter was suffocating.

He’d intended to use his week free from Spider-Man to catch up on his homework, but instead, anxiety rooted itself in the pit of his stomach and he felt like he couldn’t stop shaking. There were brief periods of calm where he held it together, he did a good amount of homework and felt okay about his accomplishments, but the respite from his anxiety was always short-lived. 

This evening, in particular, had started off okay. But then, unbidden, thoughts about the work he had to do the next day crept into his brain and a familiar unease oozed through his veins.

Suddenly, a week seemed much too short, it hardly even counted as a break, and all Peter could think about was school. With every essay, assigned chapter, and worksheet, he could feel the next one looming over his head. He could barely think with all the worry and frustration crowding his brain, and even the things that should have been easy felt insurmountable.

The walls felt like they were closing in, and everything moved at the speed of light or not at all. And then Peter could barely move at all, could barely do anything other than worry, and by the time he’d worried hard enough to make him want to even try chipping away at something, the anxiety had already taken all of his energy and patience.

Peter knew he had to do the work, he needed to keep his grades up to keep the scholarship to Midtown, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. He tried, but there was a point where the anxiety made way for apathy, and he half-assed his essays, skimmed the required reading with no intention of going back, and rarely double-checked his math. 

All week, Peter spent lunch in the library studying. The cafeteria made him antsy, more than usual, and he needed to do something about his nerves. He still had blades stashed in his backpack, but it was just too risky. Somehow Peter knew that Tony would just know about the cuts, so as awful as it felt, he didn’t do anything.

Peter didn’t know how much his library study sessions were doing for his grades, but it made him feel mildly productive, so it didn’t really matter. It was a minor inconvenience that he had to skip lunch, but his stomach would have been too twisted up to eat anyway.

The weekend came, and Peter didn’t feel any better, so instead of leaping out the window and going on patrol as soon as he could, Peter stayed home and stared at the homework pile that only seemed to grow larger with each passing hour. 

Peter sighed, threading his fingers through his hair and tugging a little. He was tired. He’d been staring at a simple algebra problem for fifteen minutes and his mind still couldn’t muddle out how he was supposed to solve it.

He needed a break, but none came. Every time he looked at his life things were piling up in the future. He had decathlon practice almost every day of the week, and when he didn’t it was a lab day with Mr. Stark, or hanging out with Ned, or doing something with Aunt May. There was never a day where he could do nothing, worry about nothing. Instead, he lived for the days, few and far between, where he could sleep in a little later and maybe ignore his schoolwork.

Later that weekend, Peter collapsed into bed after the one patrol he’d managed to pull off; he had to look normal for May, if nothing else. And even though he couldn’t breathe right and there was a weight on his chest, the people of Queens needed him more than he needed a break.

Peter wanted to scream and cry and hurt, but he couldn’t, he was stuck inside of himself, and his emotions were swirling around with nowhere to go. Peter didn’t have the energy for this, but his brain wouldn’t give him the mercy of making him numb. Peter wondered if it would be easier to just... not exist. 

And, oh, no, as tempting as that was, as nice as it sounded, it shouldn’t be this appealing. Peter started shaking. This was wrong, something was wrong. He definitely wasn’t suicidal, and he definitely wasn’t scared of himself. Nope, absolutely not. It was a quick little thought, why was he so freaked out?

Peter didn’t know, and he didn’t care, instead, he picked up his phone and turned it on, the bright light illuminating his room, forcing him to squint for a moment to adjust. His trembling fingers found Ned’s number and hovered over it. But Peter didn’t know what to say, and his voice would sound awful, so Peter switched to the text app instead.

The little cursor blinked at him from the screen, and he couldn’t do it. Peter didn’t know what to say, even to start a casual conversation. Because even though it was over text, Peter couldn’t help but worry that somehow Ned would know, and maybe Peter wanted someone to know, but maybe he didn’t.

Peter dropped his phone on the mattress beside him, curling up on his side and staring into the darkness, feeling even worse than before. Peter’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up again, his heart lifting a little when he noticed it was a text from MJ.

She’d sent him a picture of one of her sketches, accompanied by the words _‘did I make Ned pained enough?’_

Peter huffed at the sketch, it was of Ned looking disgustedly at a school lunch tray with an unidentifiable substance on it. 

_‘It’s perfect. Why’d you ask?’_

Michelle’s bubble popped in and out a couple of times, and Peter stared at it impatiently.

_‘His birthday’s in a month’_

_‘Awww,’_ Peter texted back immediately. _‘So you don’t hate us, never would’ve guessed.’_

All MJ sent in response was, _‘shut up, nerd.’_

* * *

The week started again, as they tend to do, and Peter felt no better. He was in the middle of a chem quiz, stuck on what should have been an easy question, and he bit his lip, pressed his chest into the desk, pulled on his hair a little, anything to make him focus. That was when he noticed the empty, gnawing feeling in his stomach from when he’d skipped lunch, Peter tried to hold onto it, and it worked, marginally. 

Really, it was less about realizing he liked it, and more about noticing how it felt to work on an empty stomach. There was something about the hunger, the lack of weight in his chest, that appealed to him. It made him feel good, his chest felt lighter, he could breathe a bit better, and maybe it was artificial, but that didn’t matter.

It was an easy thing for Peter to latch onto, and really, he was just a little hungry, he could make up for it at breakfast and dinner. And just like the cutting, the accidental extra hits on patrol, and the clumsy swings, it might technically be bad, but he wasn’t going to starve himself or anything.

It was becoming difficult to justify his daily ‘lunches’ in the library, but Peter couldn’t stop. His homework was taking so long that the library lunches were actually needed if he still wanted to go out on patrol. And maybe now he was avoiding food, as well as the open, crowded cafeteria that made his skin crawl.

Peter liked his little spot in the library, safe and hidden away in a corner. He’d know if anyone got close to him and there was no way he could be surprised. He was starting to look forward to his breaks, even though studying still fried his brain, if only so he could get some respite from all the movement of the school day.

Peter headed to the library on autopilot, glad it was almost the weekend again. He looked up and noticed Ned standing by the doors to the library, and his heart sank. Peter felt incredibly guilty about leaving Ned alone at lunch every day, he missed his company, but Peter knew he also needed to study, and that won out.

The guilt was compounded by fear when Peter noticed MJ standing next to Ned.

“Uh, hey, guys,” Peter said, slightly confused, as they usually didn’t meet him before lunch. “What are you doing here?”

Ned spoke up first, looking nervous. “Well, you’ve been studying a lot, like, so much, and we-” 

“We’re staging an intervention,” MJ interjected, her gaze unwavering, cutting him straight to the core in a way that made Peter feel uncomfortable. Ned nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“I’m not studying that much.” Peter took a breath to continue, but Ned and MJ interrupted, chorusing, “Yes, you are.”

Peter sighed, exasperated. “Fine. How are you intervening, then?”

“Like this!” MJ snatched the stack of books Peter had in his hands and darted into the library.

“Hey!” Peter cried, moving to follow her, but was blocked by Ned, who just gave him a stern look. Peter rolled his eyes and tried to slip past. “Look, Ned, I need those books back. How am I supposed to do homework now?”

Ned stared at him. “Seriously, dude? That’s the point of intervening.”

“Yeah,” MJ added, emerging from the library without any books in sight. Before Peter had the chance to say anything, she continued on. “I gave your textbooks to Mrs. Linkletter, and she’s not giving them back until lunch is over. So you might as well come eat with us.”

Peter really didn’t want to, even if it was Ned and MJ. “Guys, I can’t, it’s way too loud in there, my eardrums will burst,” he said, and it was a legitimate reason, because of his super-hearing the cafeteria was deafening, and his recent aversion to open spaces full of people didn’t help the matter.

“That’s a stupid excuse, Peter, just come to lunch with us,” MJ said, exasperated.

Ned, ever in the chair, said, “Well. . . Peter does have a point, it gets a little loud in there, sometimes. And Peter’s super sensitive to, like, loud noises and stuff, you’ve seen him hit the ceiling over a locker slamming, it’s kinda sad.”

Peter flushed. “Ned, stop, why?”

MJ laughed. “Okay, fair point.”

The three of them headed into the library, and Peter stared longingly at Mrs. Linkletter’s desk, stopping when he saw MJ’s stern glare in his periphery. Peter led them to a table he only half-liked, keeping away from where he usually sat because he didn’t want Ned and MJ finding him easily when he really needed to study. An awkward silence filled the air, occasionally broken by someone clearing their throat, preparing to talk. 

Finally, it was MJ who spoke up. “I’m skipping lunch for this, so start talking, losers.”

Peter and Ned exchanged a glance, and Peter, to his own surprise, started talking. Rambling about his internship (of course, leaving out that it was minimal on the actual interning part). Ned, who knew about lab days now, was enthralled, and with every question he asked, Peter delivered. MJ was still examining Peter with a look not unlike Tony’s, though it was somehow more unsettling coming from her. 

When Peter ran out of things to say about the internship, Ned launched into updates about his life. His mom had a new job, so he was almost definitely getting the Imperial Star Destroyer lego set for his birthday. He and Peter enthused over how much fun it’d be to build (it was 4,700 pieces). MJ just sat and sketched, smiling minutely and glancing over every once in a while.

It was almost like things were back to normal, and the lunch hour passed in a blur. Peter got his books back from Mrs. Linkletter and bid farewell to MJ as she went down the hallway to her architecture class. Peter and Ned headed the other way, towards the robotics lab for engineering. Despite the much-needed distraction, the happy feeling in Peter’s chest was gone when he entered the lab and his soul was sucked out of his body. School was the worst.

* * *

Peter walked into his apartment and collapsed on his bed. He wanted, no, he needed to go out on patrol. Friday night was always busy, he couldn’t take it off, not when there were lives to be saved. 

Peter hadn’t been lying on his bed for long when he heard familiar footsteps approaching, and he opened eyes when May poked her head into his room.

“Hey, should I risk cooking tonight, or do you want to go for takeout?” she asked.

“Uh, how about pizza?” Peter suggested, trying to sound more awake than he was.

May nodded and turned to head back to the kitchen, but she paused when Peter spoke. “Hey, May?” Peter winced at how small his voice sounded. “Can we, uh, watch a movie? Cuz we haven’t done that in a while and… can we?”

May’s face softened. “Of course we can, Peter. Is something wrong?”

Peter shrugged. “I just want to.”

May gave him a smile, the one she gave him when she was worried but trying not to show it. “Okay.”

May went to order the pizza and Peter ventured out to the couch. He curled up in a blanket and nearly started crying when May sat down next to him and wrapped him in a hug.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Peter?” she murmured into his hair, and he hummed in response. May only let go of him when the pizza arrived, setting the box on the table and grabbing some napkins before sitting back down, inviting him into her arms again. Peter curled up into her side, and they ate pizza and watched a Star Wars movie. May picked it, but Peter knew it was only because he liked it and she was worried.

Peter felt bad about skipping patrol to eat pizza and watch a movie, but he wanted this (selfishly). Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Peter started crying, silent tears falling down his cheeks. Peter tried to discreetly wipe his eyes, but May noticed. She started rubbing his back and humming into his hair, movie all but forgotten. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, pulling away a bit to see his face.

“I don’t know,” Peter choked out, and it felt like an admission he shouldn’t be making. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“Oh, honey,” May said, resting her head back on top of his and still rubbing his back. They stayed that way until the credits rolled, and May said, “As much as I love you, I won’t fall asleep on a couch. Come on, get up.” She gently tugged on Peter’s arm, leading him down the hallway.

When they passed his door, Peter headed towards it, trying to pull his wrist out of May’s gentle grip. She tugged back slightly, her eyes earnest and almost pleading, but Peter just shrugged and pulled his out of her grip. May pursed her lips and silently watched him retreat, but Peter didn’t need her to say anything to know that she wished he’d stay.

When Peter’s parents had died, he’d been so scared that May and Ben were going to disappear, too. After a few sleepless nights, he’d crawled into bed with them, and they let him stay. It took several months for him to start sleeping in his own bed again, but whenever he got scared he’d still creep out of his room, run down the hall, and squeeze himself into bed between them. But then he’d gotten older and the midnight visits came fewer and further between. Peter wanted to be brave, and that meant sleeping on his own, even when he got scared.

But then Ben had died, and Peter decided being brave was miserable. Instead, he and May would fall asleep curled up next to one another, tired out from crying. They’d done it for weeks, and again when it was Ben’s birthday, and every holiday, and the one year anniversary. Peter knew that even now May wanted to hold him until he fell asleep, comfort him, and wipe away his tears. But he was fine, he didn’t mean to worry her, he needed to deal with this on his own, and so he did, falling asleep sobbing into his pillow instead of May’s arms.

And maybe it felt like a mistake, that he was pushing May away, but he couldn’t help himself. She didn’t need to worry about him, he was fine. It was better this way, it had to be, though deep down he was tearing apart at the seams, wishing he could say something, that he’d stop ignoring her and tell her _something_ , anything. But he couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing Ned and MJ in this chapter, and their dialogue stayed mostly unchanged in all of the drafts. On the flip side, the May scene only appeared in the last draft, but I feel like it's really the thing that makes this chapter work. 
> 
> I read [what is and will be (is you and me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812653) recently and it really inspired the way I wrote the final scene (I'm sure it'll inspire upcoming stuff just as much). It's a beautiful fic, and a lovely look at the way May and Peter's relationship developed over time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to take as many chapters as it needs, so be prepared for (hopefully) a bit of a long ride. 
> 
> Check out my tumblr, papered-owl


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